


why do i let myself dream like this?

by jukeboxtheghostie



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Trans Dave Strider, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 21:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukeboxtheghostie/pseuds/jukeboxtheghostie
Summary: a short and not-so-sweet drabble pertaining to dave's intrusive thoughts.title from meteor shower by cavetownwritten in early march





	why do i let myself dream like this?

**Author's Note:**

> cw: talks of dead animals (birds), violent thoughts, internalized homophobia mentions, all tht jazz  
> this one's a bit darker than my usual stuff but i just needed to vent when i wrote this sooooo

on his walk to school on monday, dave found a dead bird squashed against the sidewalk. this was a normal occurrence for houston’s streets, so he never thought much of it. he did like to collect pictures of every squashed bird he came across, however. 

_pick it up and put it in your mouth._

no, he told himself, that’s disgusting. who knows how long its been on the ground? it could have been as long as four days since dave didn’t see this specific bird on thursday and one of his acquaintances from chem offered to drive him to school on friday. e continued past the bird without pausing to take a picture, distracted by his disturbing thoughts.

_i wonder what it sounded like when it was crushed. was it alive? or dead? the crunch of its bones and the press of its beak into the cracked pavement surely must have been a sight._

he manages to shake off his thoughts for the rest of the walk to school, watsky blasting in his ears as he focuses on the rhythmic tapping of his shoes on the sidewalk instead of his thoughts. _“bada bing, bada boom, when walk in i’m the king of the room...”_

\--

by third period, dave is sick and tired of the school day. his free period came and went, spent studying for the test he had in eighth period the following day. lunch was spent as usual, alone sitting under the stairs, not wanting to bother his chem friends by asking if he could join them. he knew they sat in the library during lunch, in the graphic novels section, even though they’re far too loud to be in a library and food wasn’t allowed inside. he wondered if the library had just let go of herself or something.

nevertheless, he sat under the stairs, legs crossed close to him as he ate his shitty white bread ham and nothing sandwich, people walking past him to get to the door at the foot of the staircase. he’d sit on the stairs themselves sometimes, lounging around with his laptop out and his big noise-cancelling headphones on, mixing something to distract himself. 

occasionally, sort-of friends from other classes pass by and wave. he gives them cool, short nods, adjusts his shades.

 _look at that girl. she’s beautiful, eh? why not try to get a piece of that? c’mon, go up to her and ask her out. kiss her._

his thoughts seemed to have forgotten about his colossal preference for dick, outwardly cringing at the uncomfortably intrusive one. he scooted closer to the wall and turned up his music louder. not today, internalized homophobia.

he’s late to his next class by ten minutes, despite sitting barely half a minute’s walk from his history class, having not heard the warning bells over his half-assed attempt at mixing eminem and cage the elephant. (it was really shit. he trashed it immediately upon relistening at home, opting for an alt-j and catfish and the bottlemen mashup instead.)

\--

dave is in the library during his free period on wednesday, typing away on his laptop. filling out job applications in three different tabs, a random asapscience video playing in another, his mixing software still open so he could take breaks to work on his next project there. completely original, built from free use sounds he found on youtube. he slept poorly the night before, halting his typing to rub at his eyes under his shades periodically. 

at one point, computer screen reflecting off of his aviators, he swears he saw someone move in the corner of his eye. when he turns, he sees a bookshelf, but nobody’s there.

_you’re being watched._

he brushes it off as best as he can, but the feeling persists. he glances back at the bookshelf, attempts seeing through it, but no dice. he shrugs and goes back to work, slightly on edge but starting to calm down.

_can’t you feel it? the eyes on the back of your neck?_

he swats at his neck like someone is holding on to it. he doesn’t like this feeling.

_can they see the outline of your binder through your shirt?_

he pulls at his collar as casually as he can to fix the visibility of his binder, his breath wheezing out as he started to get more panicked. there was nobody there, he told himself. nobody’s there.

_is it one of those kids from eighth grade that picked on you for dressing like a boy? for only having hand-me-downs?_

those kids don’t go to the same high school as you. they wouldn’t remember you, either. it’s been three years since eighth grade. nobody’s there, he reassures himself.

_someone’s there._

he notices he’s been mumbling to himself, taking off his headphones as he made uncomfortable eye contact with the concerned library aide. he pulls the best poker face he can muster as he packs up quickly, sloppily, heading to the quietest room in the counselor’s office for the rest of his free period. his scalp itches with the anxious thought that he’s being watched, even as his back is pressed firmly pressed against the wall in the small and empty room in the counselor’s office, and the only sound in the whole room his scattered breathing. 

\--

it’s friday, and on dave’s walk home from school, he sees that the bird from the beginning of the week is gone now.

_someone else probably picked it up. do you think they ate it?_

disgusting, he tells himself, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking so fast, only stopping for crosswalks, he gets home 10 minutes early.


End file.
